


First Meeting

by TFPaddict



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TFPaddict/pseuds/TFPaddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starscream and Megatron meet in person for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fierceawakening](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierceawakening/gifts).



> Prompt was "Megatron/Starscream, early courtship". Somehow this turned into their first meeting, so I kinda missed the prompt there. Ah well.... 
> 
> This was part of a drabble giveaway contest for my followers on my [Tumblr RP account](http://teleportingprankster.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Oh, I remember the first time we met.

He had requested an audience. A meeting with the Air Commander of Vos, to discuss the Council's misdeeds, to ask for recruits from my forces for his Cause.

He came to _me_ , of course. It wouldn't do for _me_ to go to _him._

I recall when he arrived, and recall the reports of his anger when he realized he would have to accept a lift to my audience chamber. Only _fliers_ could reach it unaided; he'd have to rely on another to get him there – a blow to his ego, no doubt.

Ah, but when he strode into the room, the overt anger was gone – his movements were slow, deliberate, like he _owned_ the room _._ Imperious. Commanding. I saw my court – _my Seekers_ – incline their helms to _him_ , to knowledge _him._

Giving _him_ the respect that was _my due._

I rose from my chair – not a _throne,_ no, not the item that I deserved – and flared my wings, crossing my arms across my chassis, staring at the interloper, the _upstart_ , that dared call himself a revolutionary.

'Megatron,' I named him, 'Welcome to Vos, City of Towers.' I watched him as he gave a slow look around the chamber again, as his lip turned up – ever so slightly – in disgust at the luxury.

He glanced back at me – his height such that we were at optic level, despite the short dais upon which my chair, and I, stood – and inclined his helm, ever so slightly. 'Starscream, Air Commander of the Seekers,' he responded. 

At the title, his entourage – two mechs, heavily armored for the arena and battle-scarred – knelt, with obvious reluctance.

Megatron, however, didn't move.

There was a stunned silence. I recall a snarl from my right, recall one of my entourage – Slipstream, it was - stepping forward, arm sweeping up to aim a blaster at the silver gladiator at the insult. Thundercracker moved at the same time, blocking her movement, Skywarp shifting on my left, prepared to intervene or teleport to flank an aggressor.

I ignored the byplay, ignored the quiet words from Thundercracker that had Slipstream reluctantly stepping back into her place, ignored the subtle relaxation of Skywarp on my left and the flurry of commentary and plans over the trinebond. It was their duty, after all, to take care of issues like that, and I left them to it.

I narrowed my optics at him, examining this self-styled warlord, this _commoner_ that didn't even have the decency to show me – an _actual_ master of war, of the warbuild caste – the reverence I was due.

I knew he would not kneel, not after that display, not after he stood there so casually, so deliberately, like one of my trine hadn't just intercepted a weapon aimed at him, like his own entourage wasn't tensing, yellow optics flicking around the room on high alert. 

He knew the custom and choose to defy it.

My lips curved in a smirk. Oh, I understood that, I did.

Instead of reacting, I sat, proudly spreading my wings against the back of my chair, legs crossed casually. I leaned my right elbow on the arm of the chair and propped my chin upon it as I looked down at him, leaving him standing like a supplicant before my throne.

Which, of course, he _was_.

I saw the recognition of the ploy cross his optics, and he inclined his helm, ever-so-slightly, in acknowledgment of the game.

'Air Commander. Seekers. Warbuilds.' He turned slowly, meeting the optics of nearly everyone in the room as he launched into his speech, casually turning his back upon me as if in dismissal – his next move in the game. I recall smirking to myself as I listened to his speech.

I don't recall all of it now – it was long ago, and truth be told, I paid little attention at the time. I'd heard it before, of course – I'd had Skywarp bring me recordings of Megatron's speeches, as well as footage of him fighting in the arena and out.

I'd studied him _well_ before allowing him in my City. 

And everything I'd read and seen was as rust in the wind compared to his actual presence. I let my optics linger on his frame, on his scarred hands, at the pitiful weapon on his arm - and felt my smirk grow as I thought of the gift I'd left in his assigned quarters in my Tower.

A weapon designed for war, for massive destruction. One that none of mine, save perhaps a shuttle, could use due to the weight and power of it. But a weapon that would compliment this Megatron well.

I shifted in my chair, leaning forward slightly, listening more to the almost poetic rise and fall of his words than to the words themselves. I ran the tip of my glossa across my upper lip as the gladiator spoke of death, of destruction, of revenge.

I saw the quirk of his lip as he noted the reaction, the slight smirk that he had at the confirmation he had guessed correctly. 

I let him have his smugness then, in my audience chamber, before my Court. I had plans enough for later.

When he retired to his quarters that evening, my experimental Fusion Cannon wasn't the only thing awaiting his... _attentions_.


End file.
